The Perils of Boba Fett
by Kitty Fett
Summary: Boba Fett gets out of one bad situation, only to get into another. Lather, rinse, repeat. CHAPTER 5 NOW UP!
1. Turnabout

Disclaimer: Boba Fett, Hutts, Twi'leks, the New Republic and basically the whole setting for this story all belong to someone else, namely the great one George Lucas. I am not writing this story with any intent to profit financially or in any other material way, or in any other way infringe or impose on Mr. Lucas, his copyright, or anything else that may impede the smooth process of his writing & directing of Episode III.  
  
Turnabout  
  
Deep in the dungeons of Elbo the Hutt, Boba Fett strained at the metal cuffs that bound his wrists and ankles securely. Id Radoona, Elbo's Twi'lek torturer, smiled down at him. "Don't worry," the repulsive creature said. "Elbo will come back in the morning. And then we'll begin the real torture." He ran his hand down Fett's stomach, his fingers dipping lightly, to stroke the insides of the parallel cuts.  
  
Fett didn't trust himself to reply. He kept his eyes locked on the stone ceiling, concentrated on his breathing.  
  
Id Radoona dug his fingers into the sides of the deepest wound, and Fett sucked in an agonized breath. White spangles burst into his vision. Radoona merely chuckled, and walked away. Fett heard the door open, and then clang shut.  
  
Fett slumped against the rock slab. It would be, he knew, his dissection table. While he was still alive—and screaming.  
  
He had no illusions that any amount of self-control would be sufficient for the days ahead.  
  
He didn't want to die like this, entertainment for a Hutt. But at the moment, he couldn't think of any other options. Couldn't think of much at all, past the pain.  
  
Radoona had said that tomorrow would be the "real torture." As if the long afternoon since he'd walked into Elbo's trap had been merely a warm-up.  
  
He'd been a fool, to have let his attention waver for that one moment. He could still see it in his mind's eye; Elbo had offered him cash. He'd bent to pick up the case, and not noticed the heavy-gage needle secreted within the handle. Though he still didn't know what imagined slight had pushed Elbo over the edge, into this…  
  
The sound of the cell door easing open caught his attention. He turned his head, expecting to see Radoona again. But instead, it was…a dancing girl? He vaguely remembered seeing her in Elbo's throne room.  
  
She moved to his side, and now he got a better look at her. Pale skin, red hair, vivid green eyes. Dressed in a green velvet outfit that matched her eyes, and left very little of her body to the imagination.  
  
"Who…are you?"  
  
"My name is Merisu," she whispered. "I've come to rescue you."  
  
He might have laughed, at that. Except that it would hurt far, far too much.  
  
She was already moving, her hands on the nearest cuff, picking the lock. In only a few moments, she had it undone, and moved on to the next one.  
  
He was free in less than a minute, and Merisu helped him to sit up. "Do you think you can walk?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She helped him to his feet. He gasped as the slashed-open soles of his feet came down on the rough floor. His eyes rolled, and he leaned against the stone slab, his hands in a pool of his own blood. Merisu was gone—but then he saw her, stuffing his famous Mandalorian armor and helmet into a duffel bag. She slung it over her shoulder, and then came back for him. She put her free arm around his waist, and helped him to hobble out of the cell, and down the corridor.  
  
He saw a pair of Gammoreans slumped on the floor, covered with blood. Their throats had been slashed.  
  
Merisu's work? Just what kind of a dancing girl was she?  
  
She had a speeder waiting, just outside the rear door. Fett let her ease him down into the speeder, and leaned back, conserving his strength. She tucked a blanket around him. He barely felt it, when the speeder lifted, and began racing through the night.  
  
He might have dozed off, dizzy and weak as he was from blood loss. In any case, it didn't seem to take long to reach a ship. He couldn't see much of it, just a shape in the dark. The speeder roared up a ramp, and into a well-lit area. He heard the clang of a metal door closing.  
  
"You're safe, now."  
  
"Why…?" He opened his eyes, and looked at her. The long red locks were gone, replaced by medium-brown hair, cropped close.  
  
She didn't answer, but went to get a medical kit. She pulled out a pre-loaded syringe. He frowned at it, the pain he was in warring with the fear of being helpless. "What…I don't…"  
  
"Nerve blocker, that's all." She held it up, so that Fett could see the label. "Knocks out the pain, without knocking you out."  
  
Pain won out. "Please," he whispered.  
  
She injected the medicine into his arm. Soon, he felt a soothing numbness spread throughout his body. He closed his eyes for a moment, and only opened them when she started to move him again. This time, to a soft bed. She cleaned out the wounds, and then wrapped his feet and stomach in portable bacta packs. Then she put a clean blanket over him.  
  
"How can I…ever repay you?" Because certainly, repayment would be necessary, in one form or another. Though maybe he shouldn't be entering negotiations until he was better able to protect his own interests?  
  
She smiled down at him, and traced the edge of his lips with one fingertip. "Don't worry. I'm sure an opportunity will present itself."  
  
So that's what it was. Except…he couldn't escape the feeling that he was missing something. He was still dizzy from blood loss, shock. He couldn't think…  
  
He must have dozed off. When he opened his eyes again, he found that Merisu had changed once again. Her bright green eyes were now merely hazel—she must have been wearing lenses. More disguise. Her skin was also darker.  
  
Not a dancing girl.  
  
He had to struggle to keep his eyes open, now. He was tired, so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.  
  
"Wait here. I'm going to get us off this dustball."  
  
A minute or so later, he felt the shudder, as the engines kicked in. They were lifting off, heading for space. And not too much later, he heard footsteps.  
  
He managed to open his eyes again. Instead of the dark green costume, Merisu wore a set of dark gray coveralls. She barely looked like the same person who'd rescued him. If he hadn't seen the transformation a bit at a time, he would have though she was a stranger.  
  
She certainly didn't look anything at all like a dancing girl, now. More like a smuggler, maybe, or…  
  
He was finding it harder and harder to think. To do anything. "Where…going?" he asked, in a voice that like it was coming from the bottom of a deep pit.  
  
"As far away from here as we can."  
  
"Good. But…where."  
  
"Somewhere safe."  
  
"Don't think…anywhere…"  
  
"We're going into New Republic space."  
  
"No…"  
  
She sat down beside him, started stroking his cheek. "Shh, listen. They've got laws against what the Hutts do. They also don't believe in summary executions."  
  
"Hmm…" His head felt thick. Was it only blood loss? Or had she pre- loaded something else, something more powerful, in the syringe? "You drugged me," he whispered. "Why?"  
  
"You don't do much work for the Repubs, do you?" she asked. "Probably not worth your while."  
  
"No."  
  
"I mean, their really big bounties are few and far between. And anyway, they usually require live capture, so that they can give their criminals a fair trial."  
  
His eyes flew open then, comprehension suddenly, belatedly, dawning. But whatever drug she'd given him was stronger even than self-preservation. He slumped back, against the bed.  
  
The last thing he felt, before he succumbed to that blissfully dangerous sleep, was an almost…comradely pat on the arm. The last thing he heard was Merisu's voice, now stripped of a dancing girl's seductive wiles.  
  
"Don't worry, Fett—I'm going to take good care of you." There was nothing but business in her voice now. "You're no good to me dead." 


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

Disclaimer: Star Wars, Boba Fett, and the New Republic all belong to someone else, namely the great one George Lucas. I am not writing this story with any intent to profit financially or in any other material way, or in any other way infringe or impose on Mr. Lucas, his copyright, or anything else that may impede the smooth process of his writing & directing of Episode III.  
  
Out of the Frying Pan…  
  
It was, Boba Fett thought, like swimming upward through a sea of Ihalla-tree sap, the long, slow return to consciousness. Now, at least, he could see the surface, though it still lay out of reach. But it didn't matter, he was in no hurry.  
  
He was lying on his back, on a very comfortable bed, and in no pain. He knew that there was something he should be doing, but he couldn't remember what. Nor could he summon up much concern in the matter. He was…comfortable.  
  
He felt movement, then; his body was being manipulated. Someone was dressing him. He desired neither to help or hinder the process; he couldn't see how it mattered.  
  
At least, not until he felt the restraints being locked onto his wrists.  
  
He opened his eyes, and looked up. The bounty hunter Merisu was leaning over him, checking to make sure he was secure. Taking no chances.  
  
"You," he said.  
  
"Me." Then she straightened. "You must be thirsty."  
  
He nodded. She brought him a glass of water, and raised his head so he could drink it. He didn't question it; if she'd wanted him unconscious, she wouldn't have turned off the drugs.  
  
"Where are we?" Fett asked.  
  
She didn't answer. He supposed she'd headed straight for the closest New Republic government office. He was valuable merchandise; she'd want to exchange him for cold, hard credits before someone else decided to take him from her and collect the bounty for themselves.  
  
Once he was turned over to the New Republic, he'd probably be taken, under heavy guard, to Coruscant. There he would stand trial for whatever crimes they decided to charge him with. Assault on Citizens of the New Republic, for one. Multiple counts; Han Solo, Leia Organa, Chewbacca…there would be others.  
  
He was certain that, one way or another, he would never be a free man again.  
  
He began to focus, to take stock of his condition. The cuts in his stomach and feet no longer hurt, though that could still be the lingering effects of the drugs. But as long as they'd been underway for more than two days the bacta would have healed him completely. Merisu had dressed him in his Mandalorian armor, even to the gauntlets—not so much of a surprise, when he thought about it. After all—how else would anyone know him?  
  
And that, he realized, could be his way out.  
  
Now, what he needed to do was lull her. He closed his eyes almost all the way, and relaxed into the mattress. The more doped-up she thought he was, the better. But he turned his head to the right, so that he could study the room.  
  
She'd obviously spent a good chunk of their travel time disarming his equipment; the warhead from his back-mounted rocket-launcher sat beside the jetpack. The wrist-darts were also there, and even the coil of wire he would have used to entangle his prey. There were also short lengths of wire, and electronics components scattered on the countertop.  
  
"Come on," she said, interrupting his survey. "Sit up."  
  
He obeyed, and she put a heavy chain around his waist. He watched, as she unlocked the restraint on his left hand—on the far side of the bed—and re-locked it to the chain. Then she went to the nearer one.  
  
She'd be expecting an escape attempt, and he gave her one. As soon as the second restraint was free, he lashed out at her, using the chain itself as a weapon.  
  
She ducked back, out of range. That gave him the opportunity he needed. He rolled to the side, off the bed. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he launched himself toward the table with the components. The world seemed to spin wildly beneath him, but he kept his focus, and gained his objective.  
  
He grabbed the longest piece of wire he could see, and then, in one smooth motion, grabbed one of the wrist-darts.  
  
He slipped the wire in between the gauntlet and the sleeve of his flight suit, then began to fumble with the wrist-dart. The fumbling wasn't even feigned; his eyes could barely focus.  
  
He saw Merisu approaching, and began to back away. Finally, he managed to get the dart set. He held out his arm in firing position, flexed his wrist—but of course, nothing happened. He hadn't been expecting it to.  
  
He staggered back, and pressed his hand to his head. Merisu was about to tackle him, but before she got the chance, he dropped to his knees. He rolled his eyes back, and leaned against the table leg.  
  
Gently, Merisu extracted the wrist-dart from the gauntlet, and locked the restraint into place. Then she eased Fett back, so that he was leaning against the bulkhead.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Dizzy," he mumbled. "I can barely…"  
  
"Wait here."  
  
She got up for a moment, and returned with something wrapped in a foil packet. A ration bar. She unwrapped it, and held it up so that he could eat it. He gulped it in three bites, and then slumped back against the bulkhead.  
  
"Better?" she asked.  
  
He didn't respond. After a moment, she unwrapped another one, and held it up. He ate that one just as eagerly.  
  
In a few minutes, the dizziness began to recede. But he kept his eyes closed anyhow. The more he could get her to feed him, the more energy he'd have once he made his escape.  
  
"All right," she said, sounding a little aggravated. "Last one."  
  
After he'd eaten the last ration bar, she got up again and brought his helmet. She eased it over his head, but didn't seal it to the collar of his flight suit. Then she helped him to his feet.  
  
He moved carefully, as if he were picking his way across a debris-strewn landscape. He was rewarded with an impatient sigh. Good, good, get annoyed, he thought.  
  
She took him to the speeder, and strapped him in. The passenger seat was made to secure a prisoner. She turned the repulsorlifts on, opened the door, lowered the ramp, and left her ship.  
  
There wasn't much to this city she'd brought him to. He could see the edge of town, bounded by a spike-covered wall, and the rock-strewn plain beyond. It only took a few minutes to take him from the spaceport to the hole-in- the-wall New Republic office. Merisu landed in front, and unstrapped Fett—but immediately hooked him to the side of the car. She'd brought along his jetpack; to complete the look, he supposed. Now, she fumbled with it, attatching it to his armor.  
  
"Don't bother trying and fly away," she warned. "I pulled the firing mechanism, and drained the fuel tank."  
  
She led him inside. The office was staffed by only one person; a man in his early twenties with the bored, stupid look of a herd animal.  
  
Merisu marched directly up to the young man, with Fett in tow. He looked up at them, with a dazed look on his face.  
  
"I'm here to collect the bounty on this merchandise."  
  
"Merchandise?"  
  
"There is a bounty on Boba Fett, is there not?"  
  
"Um." He looked down at the computer screen, and poked at the keyboard a few times. "Yeah. Five hundred thousand credits, for live capture and delivery."  
  
"He's live, he's captured, I'm delivering him."  
  
"Um. I really can't authorize a payment that big."  
  
"What do you mean, you can't authorize payment?"  
  
"Well, it's a lot of money. More than our annual operating budget—for the next three years."  
  
"That's ridiculous!"  
  
Seeing that Merisu was thoroughly distracted, Fett eased the wire out of its hiding place. Slowly, he eased it into the lock, and began to pick it.  
  
"So who can authorize a payment."  
  
"I—um—don't really know."  
  
"Who is your supervisor."  
  
"Bel Tranek."  
  
"Where is this Tranek?"  
  
"She's not on-planet. She's got the authority for the whole local group."  
  
"This is a New Republic office. The bounty on Fett was placed by the New Republic. Therefore, there must be someone on this dustball who can authorize the payment."  
  
Finally, Fett managed to undo the lock. He tied the chain in a knot, so that it wouldn't fall and give the game away.  
  
"This isn't going to work," he said. "We should leave."  
  
"Without my bounty?" She didn't even bother to look at him. "You wish, Fett."  
  
He had to work to make his voice whiny; it was not a tone that came easily to him. "You should've just turned me in as me. Dressing me up as Boba Fett—that was stupid."  
  
The young man looked at him. "This isn't Boba Fett?"  
  
"Of course it's Boba Fett!"  
  
"No, I'm not. My name is Drelth Arko." He dredged the name up from memory; a small-time thief. "That was why she wanted to bring me here, instead of Coruscant. So that she could find some stupid petty little bureaucrat who wouldn't be smart enough to question who was inside the armor."  
  
"That's not true!" He saw color flood her face. Good, get frustrated. "It's Fett—look, I'll take off the helmet, I'll show you."  
  
"What will that prove?" Fett asked. "No one really knows what Boba Fett looks like."  
  
"Well, it'll prove that you're not Arko!" She stepped close, reaching for the helmet.  
  
Right into his range.  
  
He pulled his hands apart, and back. Then he pulled the chain over his head. He clasped his hands together, and brought the doubled chain flipping down, like a weapon.  
  
Merisu saw it coming in time to dodge to the side; it caught her on her shoulder, not the top of her head. So it didn't knock her out, but it did stagger her.  
  
He rushed her, toppling her. She lost her grip on the chain she'd used to hold him, but he was after more; the blaster she had in a holster at her waist.  
  
But before he could press the attack, the New Republic representative ducked back behind the counter. He popped up with a blaster of his own.  
  
"Both of you—freeze."  
  
Rather than obeyeing, Fett launched himself toward the door. He judged the young man correctly; he didn't have the confidence to fire a shot. Fett gained the street—and freedom.  
  
* * *  
  
Merisu picked herself up off the floor. She saw the young man staring at the door, blaster in his hand. His eyes were wide.  
  
"Oh poodoo. Oh poodoo. That really was Boba Fett."  
  
"Yeah. So you're going to give me the five hundred thousand, right?"  
  
"Well." He cringed. "Technically, he was in your custody, not ours, when he escaped."  
  
Merisu let out a wordless growl, and took off after Fett.  
  
* * *  
  
He had to get off the street.  
  
He'd escaped, but he knew exactly how short such escapes could last. The representative would probably call out the guards—probably all of them. His armor would make him highly visible.  
  
Fett oriented himself, and started running toward the edge of town. He'd have a better chance of escaping in the wilderness. Then, once everything died down, he could come back, steal a ship, and get off this planet.  
  
But that was all sometime in the future. Now, he focused on one goal; gaining the edge of town.  
  
It should be only two or three blocks away. But he could hear the sound of running feet.  
  
"Halt!"  
  
His pace didn't falter—didn't even slow. He altered his course only slightly; enough to dodge behind the corner of a building. Two blaster hits knocked chunks out of the wall behind him, and a third missed his shoulder by inches.  
  
He was in trouble; not so much as a vibroblade to defend himself. Only his armor, the length of chain…and himself.  
  
He kept running, eyes casting around for any sign of escape. He saw a doorway across the street, and ran for it.  
  
It was a residential building; numbered doorways lined the narrow hallway. He didn't want to be here…but he'd already been spotted.  
  
He had no choice but to go on. He began to run, though the dingy hallways. But a pair of security officers were already behind him, and closing fast. He suspected they already would have been firing, if it hadn't been a civilian area.  
  
Fett rounded a corner—and almost slammed into a woman. She stepped back, dropped the basket she'd been carrying, and began to scream.  
  
It was the only chance he was likely to get. He grabbed the woman, spun her around, and got his left arm around her waist. He put his other forearm across her throat, and turned—just as the security officers came around the bend.  
  
The one in the lead skidded to a stop. His partner slammed into him, nearly knocking him down.  
  
"Don't move!" the first one shouted.  
  
"Get down on the floor!" the other ordered.  
  
Fett tightened his grip on the woman. She began to whimper.  
  
"Drop your weapons," Fett ordered.  
  
The two officers stared at him, eyes wide.  
  
"Now!"  
  
They did as they were told.  
  
"Now, back away. Slowly." When they'd backed out of blaster-grabbing range, but not out of sight, he had them lie down on the ground, their arms spread.  
  
He was tempted, for a moment, to try and get the blasters. But he didn't want to risk losing his hostage.  
  
If they'd gotten a message out, the rest of the security forces on their way here. He had to move fast.  
  
He backed away, with the hostage, being careful not to trip on the basket. "I need to know if there's a way out on the side closer to the edge of town."  
  
"Please, don't hurt me!"  
  
"I need to get out of the city." He tried to soften his voice, without much success. "I won't hurt you, if you help me."  
  
"That way—to the left. Then take the first right, after the utility room."  
  
He turned around, and fast-walked her through the building. She was still trembling—but at least she hadn't succumbed to hysteria. He knew from countless experience how hard it was to drag someone kicking and screaming across hostile territory.  
  
He dragged her down a short flight of stairs, and into the street. Now, all that was left was the wall that divided the wilderness from the city. But the gates were closed.  
  
"Do you have the pass code?" he asked his hostage.  
  
"Of course not! Why is space would I want to go out there?"  
  
He sighed. It had been worth a try, at least. "What about a speeder? Do you have a speeder?"  
  
She nodded. "It's over there." He followed her gaze to a battered-looking blue speeder. It would have to do.  
  
"Where are the keys?"  
  
"I—um—they were in the basket."  
  
He looked over his shoulder, at the corner. Any minute now, all of the city's security forces would be coming around the corner. No time to hot- wire the speeder. He looked around.  
  
The wall wasn't actually that high—not even three meters. It looked as if it was built more to keep something out, than to keep escaping criminals in. There were spikes across the top—but maybe that could be to his advantage.  
  
He backed the hostage against the wall, and growled, "Stay." Then he eased to the side. He grabbed the far end of the heavy chain, making a loop. Then he put his hands behind his head, and jerked them forward. The loop of chain flew, and caught one of the spikes.  
  
"Halt!" A trio of Security Officers came around the corner.  
  
Fett grabbed the hostage, and slung her over his shoulder. Then he braced his feet, and began to climb up the wall.  
  
"Stop, now! We can't let you take the woman!"  
  
Fett didn't listen. Finally, he gained the top of the wall. And that was when one of the Officers took his only shot. It grazed his leg, didn't penetrate the Mandalorian armor, but knocked his balance off.  
  
He wobbled, and the hostage rolled from his shoulder and began to fall, back first. Straight on top of one of the spikes that lined the wall. She screamed—  
  
Fett dropped to his knees, twisted to the side, and caught her just as the spike ripped a hole in her shirt. He pulled her into his arms, twisting his body so that she was over the open air.  
  
"Fett! Stop! Let the girl go!"  
  
He shifted the arm he had beneath her knees to grasp her wrist, and then let her go with his other arm. He lowered her as far as he could, then dropped her. A moment later, he jumped down himself. He took her by the arm. She looked up at him, through her long fringe of bangs. "You saved my life."  
  
"I needed a live hostage," he growled. "Come on."  
  
"But—"  
  
"Now!"  
  
He led her away, into the wilderness.  
  
* * *  
  
"What's going on?" Merisu demanded. "Have you heard anything?"  
  
One of the security officers nodded. "He has a hostage. He's taking her into the wilderness."  
  
"I'm going after him."  
  
But the head of Security shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It's not safe out there."  
  
"Let me worry about me."  
  
"If you try to leave, you'll be placed in protective custody."  
  
"But, my merchandise—"  
  
"The bounty on Boba Fett isn't worth your life, lady. And that's what it'll cost you, if you're caught out there after dark."  
  
* * *  
  
The hostage stumbled, and went to her knees. Fett could tell she wasn't used to this kind of activity; she had the soft body of someone more used to sitting at a desk than escaping Security Officers.  
  
Soon, she'd become a liability. But not yet—now while they were still on the open plain. Now, she was what prevented them from taking shots at him.  
  
He grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her to her feet. "Move!"  
  
"Please—I can't run anymore!"  
  
He grabbed her arm, and pulled her forward. But he kept his pace to a slow jog. When the ground became more vertical, he slowed even more.  
  
Finally, they reached the foothills. Now, they had to scramble on all fours, up the loose conglomeration of dirt and rock. Fett had the hostage go first, so he could keep an eye on her.  
  
At the top of the hill, the hostage collapsed in a heap. Fett stopped for a moment, so that he could catch his breath, and then pulled her up. But now, she began to resist. He had to drag her by force into the maze of rocks and boulders. But she began to batter at his chest.  
  
He caught her wrists, and stared into her eyes. She whimpered, and drew back. But she still struggled.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you," Fett said.  
  
"So let me go."  
  
"I need a hostage."  
  
"A live hostage. You said before you needed a live hostage. But we'll both be dead, once night falls!"  
  
"Explain."  
  
"That's why they built the wall. To keep the…things…out. Nobody goes outside at night, even in the city, unless they absolutely have to. Just in case. And absolutely no one goes outside the walls at night."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Usually they don't find the bodies. But when they do, they're just…scraps." She was shaking now. "My sister used to be a comm officer. Before she started drinking. She told me once, when she got really crunched, about the distress call she got. Some prospector who'd waited too long, gotten trapped. She said he kept screaming, 'It's eating me, it's eating me,' over and over, for an hour and a half." The woman shuddered. "He was one of the ones they didn't find, but the interior of his speeder was covered with blood. My sister quit her job less than a week later. She's on disability now--mental stress."  
  
Fett looked at her for a long moment, then looked at the sky. He estimated that it was an hour and a half until dark. Down on the plains, the security guards were out, searching.  
  
"Go," he said.  
  
The hostage looked up at him. "What?"  
  
"If you hurry, you can make the plains by sundown. They'll see you, take you to safety."  
  
She backed a few steps away, as if she was frightened that he'd change his mind. Then she turned, and began to run. But she'd only gone a few yards, before she turned and stopped.  
  
"It's dangerous to be out in the open. Find someplace for the night. Barricade yourself in."  
  
"I will."  
  
She nodded. "Good luck. And…thank you."  
  
She turned and began to run again. This time, she didn't stop.  
  
Fett watched her, as she ran for safety; down the long hill, and on the plain. Merisu hadn't disabled the macrobinoculars built into his helmet; he could watch her closely. She'd barely gotten to the bottom of the hill, when one of the security speeders came to pick her up. He saw her wave her hand on one direction—at an angle from the one he'd started going.  
  
Behind his mask, he smiled. Then he turned and began walking, into the wilderness on this nameless planet.  
  
It was nearly dark, by the time he found a suitable place; a crevice in the rocks. He slipped in, and filled up the entrance with rocks. Then he sat down to wait.  
  
He watched his chrono, as the green glowing numbers counted, to when he estimated local sunset would be. He was thirsty, but despite the fact that the water reservoir in his helmet was full, he didn't drink. He wouldn't put it past Merisu to have slipped a sedative into his water supply.  
  
It should be dark outside, by now.  
  
That was when he heard it, a hissing, clicking, slithering noise in the back of the crack where he'd taken refuge.  
  
Whatever the people on this planet feared, it wasn't out here. Instead, he'd barricaded himself in here with it. 


	3. Nightfall

Disclaimer: I don't own Boba Fett—gee, I wish! Star Wars belongs to George Lucas, and I'm just borrowing it for a few minutes. I'm not trying to make any money on this, it's all just for fun. So please don't sue me!  
  
Nightfall  
  
Boba Fett hunkered in the crevice in the rocks where he'd taken refuge for the night, and listened. Even with his helmet's sound turned to maximum, the sound was still maddeningly faint; a mixture of hissing, slithering, and clicking. It seemed to be coming from a tiny crack, far in the back of his improvised shelter.  
  
That opportunistic idiot Merisu was thorough, if nothing else; she'd even disabled the built-in light from his helmet, though at least she'd left the passive systems intact. He used his tongue to switch to infrared viewing—and saw nothing. So he switched to night vision. The darkness was so thick that even that wasn't much help; the world was still mostly black, with just small patches of green.  
  
There—he saw movement. Down in a tiny crack in the back wall.  
  
He stayed still, watching. Not that there was much of anywhere to move; the hole was so small he'd had to take off his jetpack to fit. And now, it seemed even tighter in here—now that he wasn't alone.  
  
A shadow seemed to detach itself from the deeper darkness.  
  
Except there was no light to cast such a shadow.  
  
He stared at it, trying to see what it was. Then another one came out, and another one.  
  
He eased himself forward and magnified the view; it looked like some kind of insect.  
  
It began to crawl toward him.  
  
He waited, motionless, watching. When the insect reached him, he put one gloved hand down. The bug slowly crawled onto the palm of his hand, and he lifted it to get a better look.  
  
It was big—nearly as big as his palm. In the dim light, its carapace looked like faintly shiny black. It had large mandibles in the front; that was what was doing the clicking.  
  
It dropped its head, and began to chew at the fabric of his glove. He turned his hand over to drop it, but it didn't fall. A sharp shake of his hand sent it flying. It landed on the rock floor and scuttled away, clicking rapidly.  
  
He looked back to the crevice, and saw that more of the bugs were coming out. Several of them were crawling toward him, now, clicking their mandibles.  
  
He felt his heart rate pick up, as adrenaline began to trickle into his bloodstream. He could almost dismiss the revulsion as some left-over instinct that no longer served any real purpose—almost.  
  
He looked at the palm of his glove. The bug had only chewed at it for a few seconds, but it had eaten almost through to the bare flesh.  
  
He began to look for a rock, something he could use to block up the opening. And then he saw a larger shadow coming out of the hole.  
  
It wasn't just one of them, but many. The bugs swarmed out of the rocks like a dark cloud. The primitive, instinctive part of Fett's brain was screaming at him to rip the rocks from the front of the cave and run. But the calmer, more evolved side of his brain retained control. He didn't know what else was out there; the bugs might not even be the main threat.  
  
The bugs reached him, flowing like a tide over his boots—and kept going. He let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding.  
  
And that was when he felt it; a burning pain just over his right shoulder blade. He twisted his head back, to see the hind end of one of the bugs, sticking out of his armor. It had chewed its way through the flight suit, and was now trying to burrow its way in.  
  
He slammed his hand down, and felt the carapace crunch. The bug wriggled, and went still.  
  
But Fett felt something moving. Another bug was trying to eat its way through the suit, just above his left knee.  
  
He crushed that one as well. But more were crawling up his legs. He brushed them away, and began to pull the rocks from the entrance. But before he could pull out more than a few, he heard more of the sounds—from above.  
  
The whole ceiling was flooded with them.  
  
He worked faster.  
  
Not fast enough, as it turned out. The bugs fell on him like a wave. They crawled over his visor, blinding him. And now, some of them had gotten in his suit. He could feel them, creeping along his back.  
  
He tucked his chin, and slammed himself backwards, to crush them. He felt their ichor, in a sticky mess on the inside of his flight suit.  
  
And still the bugs kept pouring over him.  
  
He had to stop frequently to wipe the bugs away, and even then, he was half- blind. He tried to open the crevice by feel, at least enough for him to squeeze out. His heart was hammering at his ribs, his breath came in harsh gasps, but he refused to surrender to the blind, primitive panic that the bugs raised in him.  
  
Finally, he created a gap. He pulled himself out, and dropped to the ground. He rolled around, to kill any bugs still in the suit.  
  
But now, the bugs had started pouring out of the crevice. Boba Fett rolled to his feet, and began backing away.  
  
That was when the ground gave way beneath him. He tried to get to solid ground, but he didn't have time. He fell, in a shower of dirt and rocks. He rolled out of the fall, and pushed himself to his feet.  
  
Then he stood, looking up. He'd fallen nearly four meters, into the dark. In the light from the three moons, he could make out what he'd fallen into. It wasn't just a hole—it was some kind of underground passageway. The walls arched up above him, offering no purchase.  
  
If he'd had his jet pack—and the fuel to run it—he could have gotten out easily. But then, if he'd had the jet pack….  
  
He dismissed that train of thought as non-productive, and began to look around. The tunnel disappeared into darkness in both directions; both toward and away from the cliff face.  
  
Ever since his encounter with the Sarlaac, he hadn't liked being underground. But there was no help for it. He looked into the darkness in either direction, and then headed away from the cliffs. At least that way there would be less chance of running into the bugs—he hoped.  
  
* * *  
  
There was no light down here; even his night vision was useless. He had to feel his way along the cavern. After two and a half standard time parts of walking, the tunnel dead-ended in a rock fall. Fett tried to get some of the rocks free, but it was no use. He turned, and began walking back. When he reached the pool of light, he stood there for a few minutes, just looking up at it. Then he started into the darkness, beneath the cliffs.  
  
He kept his senses alert, listening for the sound of the bugs. But all that he could hear were the sounds of his own heartbeat and breathing.  
  
Feeling his way through the dark, it was easy enough to lose track of time. He was surprised when he looked up and saw that less than a standard time part had passed. It seemed like he'd been down here for a day and a half. In the darkness and silence, his other senses seemed to be magnified. He was acutely aware of the ichor that coated the inside of his armor, the scratching of the broken carapaces, and the stinging of sweat in the scrapes they'd made. The air in the cavern seemed thick in here. And he was thirsty.  
  
He didn't dare drink the water; for all he knew, that misbegotten Merisu had put a sedative in it, but the thirst was becoming a torment. Finally he decided on a compromise. He took a mouthful of water, held it for a moment, then unsealed his helmet for long enough to spit it out.  
  
That at least eased the discomfort.  
  
He kept walking. He barely noticed when the gloom began to lighten; the night vision goggles steadily began to lighten into the green. But finally, he realized he could faintly make out the rocks that littered the cavern floor.  
  
He shut the night vision off for a moment; there was a faint, diffuse glow. Some form of bio-luminescence, perhaps? He doubted it would even be visible to the naked eye, but it provided just enough for the light-hungry goggles to illuminate his path.  
  
He could move faster, now, though he was still cautious. He didn't want to run into any more bugs. He wondered if his former hostage hadn't misinterpreted her sister's drunken ramblings—if the instead of "it's eating me," the dying prospector hadn't said "they're eating me."  
  
He didn't like being eaten.  
  
Still, right now, keeping moving was the best option. The sooner he was out of here, the better.  
  
He kept walking.  
  
Nearly a standard time part later, the tunnel started opening out. He wasn't sure he liked that idea, but he wasn't about to turn back now.  
  
Still, he moved more cautiously.  
  
Now, the ground started to angle slightly down. He didn't like this….  
  
He didn't see the big bug, until it was too late.  
  
He was scrambling down a rough patch of ground, when a rock turned beneath his feet. He lost his balance, and skidded down the incline on his backside. Before he could get up, a large, dark shadow scuttled from the rocks.  
  
He'd never even heard of an insect this big. It was large enough to straddle him; its mandibles were the size of his fingers. It dropped its head, and began to chew at his armor. He could hear it scrape at his chest plates.  
  
Then it began to move lower, in search of an opening. And Fett didn't think the fabric of his armor would last long, against it.  
  
Fett slammed his knees up, against the insect's abdomen. It barely even shifted; it was tough and heavy.  
  
He felt more scraping; smaller bugs were there, chewing on his extremities. He slapped at them crushing them. On his chest, he could feel the big bug feeling his armor.  
  
He twisted, and got one booted foot up beneath it. Then, the other.  
  
He put his hands down to brace himself, and straightened his legs. The oversized insect flew back through the air, and landed on its back. Fett leaped to his feet, and began to run forward. At least there was a chance; he knew there was no escape behind him. But this trail, too, dead-ended, in a high-ceilinged chamber.  
  
But this one wasn't sheer; he thought he could climb it. And he thought he could see a crevice in the rock, just beneath the roof. But he'd better hurry; the bugs were coming toward him.  
  
In the lead was the big bug.  
  
He started climbing. He knew he couldn't match the bugs' speed, but at least he had a head start. Maybe he could reach the crack in the wall before the bugs caught him.  
  
If he could make it…if it was a way out…  
  
One slip, one misstep, and he would die.  
  
He paid no attention to the sound of the chittering, allowed nothing to distract him.  
  
Finally, he gained the narrow crevice. It was only big enough for him—but it seemed to continue up, at least as far as he could see.  
  
The bugs were almost there, though. And below, he could hear the large bug clattering at him. But at least, it didn't seem to be able to climb up here. Too heavy, probably.  
  
But it seemed to be leading the "army" from the rear. The air was full of the sound of its clicking its mandibles. Perhaps it was some kind of hive- mind; he'd heard of insects that did that. Maybe if he killed the big one…  
  
Fett began to look around. Finally, he saw a stalactite, on the ceiling a few feet away. Cautiously, he eased out of the crevice.  
  
The bugs now totally ignored the crevice, and followed him once again. The leaders of the "pack" had already reached him, by the time he got as close as he could to the spike of rock.  
  
He reached out, and grabbed it. But it was too strong; he couldn't even budge it.  
  
He paused just long enough to kill a few bugs who'd gotten too close, and then shifted his grip. Rather than pulling at the stalactite, he kicked at it, hoping to loosen it enough to grab, without shattering or breaking it.  
  
Finally, he saw a crack appear at the base. He shifted his weight back, and grabbed the stalactite. He wiggled it like a child might wiggle a loose tooth, until it finally popped loose.  
  
The full wave of insects hit him then, but he ignored them, and looked for the big one still at the base of the cliff. He would only get one shot; the other stalactites were too far from the cavern walls to be any use at all.  
  
But then, his life had often come down to one shot.  
  
He sighted, lined up the stalactite, and let it go.  
  
That second seemed to stretch into infinity, as the spear of rock plummeted through the air. In that moment alive, life and death both hovered near, waiting to see who would claim Boba Fett.  
  
The stalactite hit.  
  
The big bug let out a scream, piercing and metallic. A second later, it was picked up and echoed by the rest of the bugs. They all stood still, now ignoring Fett.  
  
It was the best chance he was likely to get.  
  
He moved as quickly as he dared, now; climbed back through the field of motionless bugs. He took the opportunity to brush many of them off the rock face, to fall; he didn't want to crush them and have to worry about bug guts on his handholds.  
  
He'd almost made it through them, when they came alive. They mobbed him, crawling over him wherever they could. He didn't dare take his hands from the rock face to kill them.  
  
Instead, he kept going, ignoring even the ones that got inside his suit. Finally, he reached the crevice.  
  
He threw himself down, and rolled as if he were putting out a fire. The bugs made a disgusting crunch, and he killed them, both inside and outside his suit.  
  
But there were more. No matter how many he killed, there were more.  
  
Until, finally, they stopped.  
  
Fett sat up, and looked around. One last, lone bug threw itself at him. He squashed it, and sat still, waiting for his heart rate and breathing to slow to normal. Then he shoved himself to his feet.  
  
He used the last of the questionable water to wash the bug-goo from his gloves, and then began to climb up the narrow crevice in the rocks. The bio-luminescence faded as he went up, and soon he was in the dark again, but he climbed by feel.  
  
Finally, though, it was too tight to go on. He could put his hand up, but no more.  
  
He stopped, to think.  
  
And realized that the darkness had, almost imperceptibly, lightened. Now, instead of pitch-black, he saw greenish black.  
  
There had to be a light source, somewhere.  
  
He drew his arm back, and now he saw a little more green. There was light up there.  
  
So that was where he would go.  
  
He removed his gloves, and began to feel around, carefully. Trying to loosen the rocks, little by little. After a long time, he was rewarded by a shower of pebbles. Was it his imagination, or did the blackness edge a little more into the green?  
  
It took hours of painstaking work, picking out shards of rock. He scraped his fingers raw, felt them get slick with blood. But gradually, he saw the world lighten. Not enough to see, but some.  
  
And then, it was open. He had to work his way up, with his helmeted head turned to the side, but finally, he was in a larger space. And there was light here, enough that he could turn off the night vision.  
  
The first thing he saw was his jet pack. He'd worked himself back into the cave where he'd started. But it was day now; he could see light coming through the hole in the rocks.  
  
He pulled himself up through the last, tight space, scraping up his armor as he did so. Then he unblocked the entrance, and walked out  
  
He looked down, and winced. His armor was nearly black with bug guts. He could only imagine what the interior looked like.  
  
He decided to leave his jet pack in the cave; it would only slow him down, now. And he needed to conserve his strength. The thirst had returned, with painful intensity; if he'd still had water, he might have risked it being drugged. And with every step, he felt his armor sticking to his body, clinging to wherever he touched.  
  
He started walking.  
  
* * *  
  
He thought he was hallucinating, when he heard the sound of water. But a few minutes later, he saw it; a whole riverfull. He popped his helmet, and scooped water into his mouth until his thirst was slaked. Then he carefully washed out the water reservoir in his helmet, and refilled it.  
  
Then he walked down the river, until he saw a deeper pool. He waded into the water, and began scrubbing the ichor off his armor. It took a while to get the outside clean.  
  
This was the part he wasn't looking forward to.  
  
He stripped down to his shorts, turned his suit inside out, and began scrubbing. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, not just disarmed but nearly naked. He strained to hear the sound of a potential attacker, above that of the rushing river.  
  
Finally, the suit was clean, and he began scrubbing himself down, using a handful of sand to scour at the sticky substance.  
  
He ducked his head under the water to get rid of the last of the sand, and when he popped his head up, there was a shadow by the side of the pool.  
  
"Keep your hands were I can see them," a familiar voice said. "And turn around—slowly." 


	4. Going Swimmingly

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. I only want to play in his universe, I don't want to make any money off of this.  
  
Going Swimmingly  
  
"Keep your hands were I can see them," a familiar voice said. "And turn around—slowly."  
  
"Merisu," Boba Fett said the other bounty hunter's name without inflection. He did as he was told, raising his hands above his head, and turning around, careful to keep his footing on the bottom of the waist-deep pool he was standing in.  
  
The female was standing just past the waterline, holding a stunner pistol aimed at his chest. He glanced at his armor, which he'd set on a rock to dry. It was within reach, but it might have been on the other side of the galaxy, for all the good it would do him.  
  
"Don't even think it," Merisu said. "Lace your hands together on top of your head."  
  
He complied; there was no reason to resist now. There would be plenty of time for that later, once he was on dry land.  
  
Merisu cocked her head to the side, studying him. "You're looking…better." She must have been running; her voice sounded tight, as if she were slightly out of breath, and her face was flushed.  
  
He supposed she was right; by the time she'd taken him from the dungeons of Elbo the Hutt , Elbo's torturer Id Radoona had had several hours to work on him. Now, the bruises had almost completely faded, the worst cuts were just red lines, though they were still livid against the older, faded scars that covered so much of his body, and the smaller cuts had almost healed on their own.  
  
Of course, Merisu hadn't rescued him or treated his injuries out of compassion; the bounty the New Republic had posted on him was for live capture only. Now, she was here to recoup her investment.  
  
"Walk toward me. Slowly."  
  
"Or what? You'll stun me?" If he complied too easily, she'd be suspicious.  
  
"If I have to."  
  
"You want me alive, remember?" he asked. "If you stun me while I'm in the water, I might drown."  
  
"I'm not about to let that happen." She took a step closer to him. He took a step back, but she snapped the stunner pistol up into firing position. He stopped; the last thing he wanted was to be unconscious.  
  
If he could get over the row of stones, he could get to the river. But he doubted he'd be fast enough to do it before Merisu stunned him.  
  
"Walk toward me."  
  
He took a step toward her. "Anything else?"  
  
She smiled. "Maybe I should make you take off your shorts."  
  
Basic psychology; sentients were less likely to fight if they were naked. He rarely had to use to such crude tricks. Most thinking creatures saw his Mandalorian armor and surrendered; those who did not were desperate enough to fight under any circumstances. But Merisu, with her less- imposing stature and nonexistent reputation, would probably have to resort to such tactics frequently.  
  
"Doesn't matter," Fett said. "You already took the lockpick and the garotte." He dropped his hands to the waistband of his shorts. He saw her suck in a quick breath, and she raised the stun pistol a few centimeters.  
  
"Keep your hands over your head," she said. She gave her head a short, sharp shake. "Somehow I don't think that would work on you."  
  
"No."  
  
"Now, come on."  
  
He obeyed, walking out of the water. He saw Merisu's eyes flick up and down the length of his body, checking for weapons.  
  
Merisu was walking back, to stay out of his grabbing range. When he was out of the water, she ordered him to turn around. Now, she approached, and pressed the stun pistol between his shoulder blades. She snapped the restraint on his right wrist, and pulled his right hand down.  
  
"Now, put your left hand down."  
  
He moved as if he were obeying her, but then jerked down and to his right. She fired the stun pistol. He'd hoped to duck completely out of range, but her reflexes just a shade better than he expected. The bolt slammed into his left shoulder, and the arm flashed into painful numbness. But he was already twisting away to the right. Merisu still had her grip on the restraint, but he extended his arm, getting himself enough room to deliver a roundhouse kick to the small of her back. She grunted, and staggered forward—but lost her grip on neither the restraint nor the stun pistol. She turned and fired at him, but he yanked his right hand forward, twisting her around and throwing her aim off. The bolt went wide.  
  
He launched himself at her, and slammed her back. She staggered, and they both landed in the pool. But Fett was on top.  
  
He got his feet onto the rocky floor of the pool, surged upright, then grabbed the front of Merisu's coveralls with his good hand. He held her head down, while she thrashed. Her hands came up—empty—and clawed at his wrist. Silvery bubbles broke the surface, when she could hold her breath no longer.  
  
Fett yanked her up, so that her head broke the surface. She sucked in air.  
  
"Where is your speeder?" Fett asked.  
  
"No way! I'm not—"  
  
He shoved her head back down, and waited for the bubbles of air. Then he pulled her back up.  
  
"Let's try this again."  
  
She shook her head. "You'll kill me."  
  
He repeated the procedure.  
  
"Last chance. I won't kill you—I give you my word."  
  
He thought he could see the calculations going on behind her eyes. She had no reason to believe him.  
  
He shoved her down again, but before he submerged her head, she cried out "Wait!"  
  
He held her there, without speaking. She pointed over his shoulder, back in the direction she'd come from. "It's over the next rise."  
  
"Thank you." He lifted her from the water, and half-dragged, half-carried her to the shore. He dropped her, and she collapsed in a heap, still panting. He walked to his armor, and began to suit up. In a very few minutes, he was ready. He turned to fix Merisu with his visor's gaze. "Don't try to follow me."  
  
"Don't worry," she said. "I think I'll just…sit here…for a few minutes."  
  
He nodded, and turned and walked quickly away.  
  
It didn't take him very long to reach the speeder. He powered it up—but something was wrong. Something about the repulsorlifts, the sound was wrong…  
  
He didn't take time to analyze it, but leaped out. And just in time; while he was still in the air, it exploded, sending him flying. He slammed helmet-first into the rocks, and the world was obliterated by a red shock of pain. 


	5. Becomes the Hunted

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. I only want to play with it for a while, for fun and most definitely not profit. Please don't sue me!  
  
Becomes the Hunted  
  
Boba Fett shook his head to clear it and rolled to his side, to see the burning wreck of the speeder behind him. He wouldn't have thought that Merisu would pull something like that--she didn't seem quite that stupid.  
  
He'd kill her. Slowly.  
  
He barely saw the movement at the top of the hill, out of the corner of his eye. He brought the macrobinoculars in his helmet to bear. He was surprised to see that it wasn't Merisu.  
  
It was a large, green, reptilian creature.  
  
Bossk.  
  
He snap-rolled to his feet, and scrambled to scant cover behind a boulder. Just in time; a blaster bolt slammed into the ground where he'd been lying.  
  
Bossk was playing for keeps, if he was willing to forego collecting the half-a-million credits the New Republic was offering for his live capture.  
  
He'd seen the Trandoshan at Elbo's court; even heard him outside his cell, asking to watch. Watch as he was tortured to death.  
  
But he supposed that Bossk would be satisfied merely to watch him die, even if it was a quick death, not the drawn-out, agonizing show that Elbo and his torturer had planned for him.  
  
Fett lay still, for now, and took stock of the situation. He could see Bossk--the Trandoshan had a commanding view of the ravine he was in. Though he'd gotten to cover, it was barely enough. Still, it was better than trying to sprint the whole length of the ravine. There was no cover, there--the Trandoshan could lay down enough fire to catch him--and he couldn't fire back. Even his famed Mandalorian armor couldn't protect him from sustained blaster fire forever.  
  
But Fett couldn't see any direct path down the mountain. If Bossk wanted to come down, he'd have to either pick his way over rough territory, or go around the mountain. And the Trandoshan's impatience was his weakness--sooner, rather than later, he'd come down from his perch.  
  
It was just a matter of patience.  
  
* * *  
  
Less than half an hour later, he saw Bossk moving. As Fett had expected, he took the most direct route--directly down the mountain.  
  
Fett was about to make a sprint for the end of the ravine, when he saw the other hunter stumble. On the steep hillside, there was no recovering. Fett watched, as the Trandoshan tumbled down the hill.  
  
Bossk was nothing if not tough, and Fett had no doubt he'd land very little the worse for wear. But he would be stunned, and winded--and that might be enough.  
  
Fett pushed himself to his feet. For a moment, he swayed where he stood--he'd eaten nothing but three energy bars in the past four--or more-- days, and had no sleep the night before. But the dizziness passed quickly, and he walked over to where he anticipated Bossk would land.  
  
He had hoped that the rifle would arrive as well, but it hadn't been heavy enough to fall more than a few meters down the hillside.  
  
He'd calculated correctly. Bossk flopped to the ground, not a meter from where he stood. He lay stunned, and Fett took the opportunity to bend down, hoping to grab the blaster from Bossk's belt before he could recover.  
  
No such luck. Bossk opened his eyes, and took a swipe at Fett's head, forcing him to duck back out of range. He bellowed, and leaped to his feet.  
  
Fett took two more steps back--just before the Trandoshan took another swing at him. Bossk bellowed, and charged, but Fett sidestepped him. He overran, and was forced to charge again. Fett turned to face his opponent once again--and felt another wave of dizziness. He stepped to the right, widening his stance to steady himself.  
  
"C'mon Fett--what are you waiting for?" Bossk taunted.  
  
A worthy opponent," Fett said, just loud enough for Bossk to hear it.  
  
The comment had its desired effect--Bossk charged again, and again Fett ducked to the side. But he knew he couldn't keep this up for long. The Trandoshan was fresh, despite his fall.  
  
And indeed, he came charging again. But this time, when he ducked to the side, Fett didn't go far. Instead, he stepped, dropped to one knee, and kicked out his other leg. It worked--Bossk went sprawling into the dirt. Fett clawed his way to his feet, but Bossk was nearly as fast. Or rather, Fett was slow.  
  
He'd have to end this fight--before the Trandoshan had a chance to wear him down even further.  
  
Bossk seemed to sense his weakness, because he started laughing. "Come on, Fett--give it up!"  
  
Bossk was expecting weakness--Fett would give it to him. He took two quick steps toward Bossk--but then moaned, doubled over, and dropped to his knees.  
  
Bossk began to laugh. "That Twi'lek sure did a number on you, Fett. I hope, after I bring you back, that Elbo lets me watch him finish the job."  
  
So it was a bounty for Elbo--worse and worse. Not, Fett reflected, that he was planning on going with Bossk, in any case. If that stupid Trandoshan would just stop gloating over his presumed victory--!  
  
Finally, the big Trandoshan bent down over Fett. "Don't even think about dying on me."  
  
In response, Fett curled himself even tighter, forcing Bossk to lean in forward. Closer...closer...  
  
Fett snapped his head up, slamming the top of his helmet into the bottom of Bossk's jaw. When the Trandoshan staggered back, Fett sprang to his feet, and dove as if to tackle him. But instead, his fingers closed on the butt of the blaster. He pulled it free and fired three quick bolts at Bossk. The first two caught the other hunter's blast vest, but the third scored across the Trandoshan's arm. Bossk roared--but noticed the blaster in Fett's hand.  
  
"Clever," the Trandoshan said. "But you'd better be careful--there's only a few shots left."  
  
It wasn't hard to resist the temptation to check--it could very easily be a trick. But neither did he fire--it would be just like Bossk, to wander out without fully charging his blaster. He watched, as Bossk backed away. Finally, when the Trandoshan had backed around the corner, Fett checked the charge on the blaster. Bossk had been telling the truth-- there was only enough for four shots--maybe five.  
  
He wondered what the bounty-hunting business was coming to, between Bossk not keeping his blaster fully charged, and Merisu coming after him with only a stun pistol.  
  
He sighed, turned, and started walking toward the far end of the ravine.  
  
He didn't want to be there when Bossk came venturing back. Bossk--or Merisu.  
  
He wondered whether they'd met up yet. Maybe they'd simply annihilate each other--though of course, he couldn't trust his life to that happening.  
  
* * *  
  
As the day wore on, walking became more and more a battle against himself-- against the exhaustion that made it seem like every step he took was in a mire. Even just walking, he was winded--the altitude was just enough higher to effect him, and when combined with his other problems, it was enough to leech his strength. But he didn't dare stop--even for a moment. Because he knew that, somewhere out there, Bossk was still hunting him. And Merisu--he doubted that she was smart enough to quit, even now.  
  
Finally, in the midafternoon, after hours of walking, he saw the end of the steep-sided canyon. Fett nearly made the mistake of walking out. But even pushed and exhausted as he was, he knew it could all-too-easily be a trap. So he approached cautiously--and he was right--when he scanned for heat, he found that someone was waiting, just outside the canyon.  
  
He was trapped.  
  
He paused for a moment, to survey the territory. Whoever was watching and waiting was in the shadow of the hill--and there was an outcropping.  
  
He crept as close as he could, seeking the best places to aim. Then he fired, three shots in quick succession. The rocks collapsed--and Fett heard someone yelling.  
  
He slipped forward, to find Bossk trapped in rocks up to his thighs. But he was still upright--and mad.  
  
Fett walked to just out of Bossk's arm-range.  
  
"You wouldn't--Fett--Fett!"  
  
He pulled the trigger.  
  
And nothing happened. He'd run out of charge.  
  
He saw Bossk go limp with relief, but then tense again. He raised one clawed hand, ready to defend himself.  
  
And Fett knew he couldn't win--not like this. He'd have to be the one to do the moving, darting in and out of range. Either that, or stand back and throw rocks.  
  
He shook his head--a mistake, because instead of clearing his head, it just re-awakened the dizziness.  
  
He needed food, sleep, to get down to the lower altitude.  
  
And then, he saw it, out of the corner of his eye. It was a slow- moving vehicle--some kind of train, running along a single track.  
  
It might, he realized, be his only chance to slip back into the city.  
  
"Your lucky day," he growled at Bossk. Then he turned, and began to run.  
  
The thin air felt like it was burning in his lungs, and if he'd been running uphill, or even on flat ground, he couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes. As it was, gravity was doing much of the work. But still, he had to fight to stay on his feet, on the steep, rough ground. More than once, he nearly fell, but somehow he managed to keep his feet.  
  
And then, finally, he was down. He sucked in one more breath of air, and lurched forward into a staggering run, toward the tracks. He wasn't going to make it--  
  
He gritted his teeth, and threw everything he had into forward motion. He'd pay for it later--but he doubted he could find shelter before dark.  
  
It began to pass in front of him. It would be gone...it was now or never--  
  
He lunged forward, and grabbed for the railing. But he misjudged the speed, and it jerked him off his feet. He kicked, trying to get a leg up-- and his left leg slammed into the wheel. He managed to twist away before his foot was pulled under, and finally got one leg up, and then the other.  
  
He climbed up the side of the container, and finally gained the roof. There was a hatch, so he opened it. But this one was filled with water.  
  
He had to work his way forward, on the swaying cars. Finally, on the third one up, he found what he was looking for--the food stores.  
  
He lowered himself into the car, leaving the hatch open for light. He kicked one of the boxes open, to find it was full of dried pasta. Maybe not. And the next three were no better either; one was filled with bed linens, another with dresses and the one after that with toothpaste. But the next one contained prepackaged cream-filled snack cakes. Better. Not the most nutritious food in the galaxy, but even the thought of food was making his stomach growl.  
  
He doffed his helmet, ripped open the first box, stripped off the plastoid covering, and devoured the cake in two bites. Ordinarily it would have been too sweet for his taste, but he was so hungry, now, he would have happily eaten pretty much anything.  
  
But he forced himself to stop after four--he didn't want to make himself sick. He put his helmet on, set the alarm to wake him in an hour, and closed his eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
He seemed to drop immediately into the dream. He was watching, disembodied, his own torment. Id Radoona, Elbo the Hutt's torturer, hummed to himself as he worked, cutting, burning, twisting. He paused long enough to pick up a bottle, and poured it onto the open wounds. Fett--the Fett on the table--threw his head back and screamed, all that came out was only a breathy squeal. And the Fett who watched knew, with the horrific clarity of dreams, that his voice had given out from screaming--and that his mind had given out, as well. Merisu's rescue, the escape...he'd hallucinated it all, and ongoing torment and eventual death were his reality.  
  
* * *  
  
He jerked out of the dream so hard that the back of his helmet slammed into the side of the train, so hard that his vision exploded in a painful burst of white light. He sucked in gulps of air, suddenly feeling trapped and suffocated by his own helmet. He yanked it off, and took a few, deep breaths, before checking the chrono.  
  
He'd slept for about forty minutes, and if anything, he felt worse than before. The hunger had returned, so he poked around a bit more, looking for anything more palatable than the snack cakes, but found nothing. So he ate two more of the cakes, before sealing himself back in the helmet.  
  
But he knew that he needed to plan--after all, he couldn't simply walk into the city in full armor.  
  
He pushed himself to his feet, and began to look around. He felt the train sway beneath him, as it went around a bend, and automatically compensated to keep his balance. After running through his ship while it was being fired upon, a gently swaying train was nothing.  
  
But then, he heard something--a heavy, clanging thud, like something had fallen on the roof of the train. But he knew, instinctively, that it wasn't rocks.  
  
And indeed, he heard footsteps--with the harsh sound of claws.  
  
It was Bossk up there. And now he was trapped. 


End file.
